Log in

No account? Create an account
< back | 0 - 10 |  
_desaparecida_ [userpic]

I hope she's a fool - a beautiful fool.

June 28th, 2008 (04:51 pm)

current mood: sleepy
current song: the housemartins

In my murky state of sleep deprivation, I began to emulate Zelda Fitzgerald.

Not the most reputable of Jazz Age (or any age) icons, to be sure.

_desaparecida_ [userpic]

everything must go!

November 9th, 2006 (08:15 pm)

current location: Dr. Zeis's webpage. He plays guitar.
current mood: distressed
current song: everything must go!

Garage sale Saturday, I need to pay my heart's outstanding bills. A cracked-up compass and a pocket watch, some plastic daffodils; cutlery and coffee cups I stole from all-night restaurants; a sense of wonder (only slightly used); a year or two to haunt you in the dark.

For a phone call from far away, with a "Hi, how are you today?" and a sign recovery comes, to the broken ones.

Which is my problem.

Actually, I am prodigiously dense.

Someone tell me what my problem is! And how I can cure myself of this restlessness and discontent. Chocolate? Jon Stewart? Ineffective. What is wrong with me? Paul Varjak would say, "You've got no guts!" He's probably right. Damn you for being right, fictional character from Breakfast at Tiffany's!

Philosophy paper: successfully put off for another half hour.

_desaparecida_ [userpic]

write it out

October 8th, 2006 (09:05 am)

current location: South Florida
current mood: optimistic
current song: square pegs

Yeah I try to write it out, not sure what I recall,
I can't tell if its memory or story telling now.
It happened very quickly, but it seemed to last for hours,
And everything was crisp and clean till all came crashing down.
So much fire and debris

That I was nearly blind,
With panic, and there was no one anywhere to turn,
To be saved, from the tyranny and cavalcade,
And all use was lost

And the more that I would struggle the more that I became entwined,
And the thickets and the thorns became my flesh and I was vine.
Creeping deep into the pavement, breaking ground as I grew fast.
To the center of a city and up again where I did gasp,
In the air, oh to breathe

And I was still alive,
With a start, and there were people everywhere,
To behold, and admire, and I longed to be one of them,
And though I was lost

I felt familiar with my surroundings, though they didn't look quite right,
Like some place that I had been before under cover of night,
And I found my way by light of day to the center of the crowd,
And told them I was one of them and begged them for their help,
And with stones they took their aim

And I knew I would die,
At their hands, for I was crowned a heretic,
To be loathed, and set fire, and laid upon a funeral pyre.
And as I cast my eyes to the sky I felt your touch

So gentle and so soothing that I knew I had been saved,
But my movements were so laboured and my will had been betrayed,
By my lips, they work alone now and to them I am enslaved,
And the slightest indiscretions that I made were met with rage,
And I burned to be free

And then you rescued me,
With your voice, and beckoned me beside you,
And your touch was alive, sensational and vibrant,
And with care, in your words you said

Sleep it is a stealthy thing, you cannot know its plans,
But you were only dreaming dear and you're here with me again,
And you asked if I'd recount to you the spirit of my night,
And you handed me this pad and this pen with which to write,
While it's fresh, in your mind

Before it gets away...

--Mr. Christopher Ender Carrabba

_desaparecida_ [userpic]

Will we both be safe till St. Patrick's Day?

September 28th, 2006 (10:41 pm)

current location: Dublin
current mood: thoughtful
current song: something written by the lovely John Mayer

Someday. I will hardly know reality from the transient perfect moments in my mind.

Which is okay. I'm perfectly content to be entirely too idealistic.

There is not a cohesive thought in my mind right now. It is really not very conducive to writing a good entry.

Thus stream of consciousness! Stephen Colbert reading excerpts from Ulysses and dancing a jig! And many other things Irish.

I would definitely become a doctor just for the sex scandals. Come on, you totally know what's going on in those on-call rooms.

_desaparecida_ [userpic]

Look at me, Laurel, I'm the oldest 26 year old in the world.

September 24th, 2006 (07:00 pm)

current location: Nowhere exotic. Just Lancaster.
current mood: listless
current song: sweet child of mine

I'm in a bit of a Dorothy Boyd rut. You know, Jerry Maguire . . . The Wizard of Oz?

Cameron Crowe is wonderful. Especially because he alludes to Miles Davis and John Coltrane in nearly every movie of his (that I've seen).

I have come to the conclusion that maybe all the feminists are right, maybe men ARE the enemy. But . . . I still love the enemy.

_desaparecida_ [userpic]

we must memorize nine numbers and deny we have a soul

September 17th, 2006 (08:08 pm)

current location: Akureyri, Iceland
current mood: restless
current song: spidersong

I saw Dr. Zeis in Tops today. Ha!

_desaparecida_ [userpic]

all the streets lie down, deserted, in the darkest part of night

September 15th, 2006 (06:07 pm)

current location: Keflavík, the bítlabærinn of Iceland
current mood: cynical
current song: rooftops and invitations

So you watch the sunrise sinking
And she's talking in her sleep
A dream of how alone she was
Tomorrow when you keep
All those promises to someone
In a mirror you will find
At your parents' house in 1989

Terrorized by the ruling party: calendars and commas.
Small request, could we please (turn around and around and around) turn around?

"One by one, million by million, in the prescience of dawn, every leaf in that part of the world was moved." --James Agee

Like Stay Gold, Ponyboy. Nothing gold can stay. And yet some things are never moved.

Speaking of which, my mother just walked in. Apparently, I am not "normal." She worries about this. She thinks that I have problems because I cannot relate to anyone my age.

Well, forgive me if I'm not understanding how I am at all necessary if my greatest ambition is to become just like everyone else. I guess I am just of the opinion that being well-adjusted is over-rated. And being single is under-rated. "Normal" is not even something I would aspire to be. So she was pretty pissed to find out that I took "you're a subdefective" as a compliment.


_desaparecida_ [userpic]

how your body still remembers things you told it to forget

September 6th, 2006 (02:05 pm)

current location: Reykjavík . . . I wish
current mood: exhausted
current song: this is a fire door never leave open

These furious affections follow me everywhere.

I don't appreciate it all that much, to be completely honest.

In other news, I cannot believe that Marinelli found out about the Korean plot for American conquest and eventual world domination! I readily admitted to my own crucial role in the plot -- who wouldn't? -- but seriously. Our Pusan perimeter of nail salons was nearly in place, and our alliance with Chinese take-out restaurants had just been finalized. It would have been a full-on Asian Invasion. But no. Damn you, Marinelli! *Shakes fist*


_desaparecida_ [userpic]

"What is happiness to you, David?"

August 6th, 2006 (02:05 pm)

current mood: thankful
current song: John Lennon

We all try so hard to be transcendent.

As if it's a contest. We want to look at the sky and see more than the stars or cumulus clouds or the ozone weathering its slow destruction. We want to fly to California and let the Colorado River weave philosophical tangents in our minds and drip ink from our pens so that we can write a photograph -- proof that we are more than the mindless, insentient drones that sleepwalk through our high school, seeming to only exist so that we, the future members of the intelligentsia, may have an object for our disdain. We don't just feel our emotions. We hyperanalyze, we psychoanalyze, we attack them with Freudian theory and pry into them until they are hallow and dead and numbness. Why be human, after all, when you can be Henry David Thoreau?

Never will you find us walking on the ground, on the sidewalks, in the halls. Rather, we float just above everyone else -- you know, the ones who haven't read Walden. We observe them complacently and write scathing criticisms in our livejournals, or rant about them in some public forum, to our friends, to anyone who will listen because they should know -- they should invariably know -- that we are not the type to conform to mainstream society.

This, we believe, is the only way that we can die without wasting our lives. The only way we can avoid dying without ever having lived.

Excuse me while I talk about a guy.

For me, there has never been a time when the world hasn't been chaos. It seemed to me that everthing was spinning crazily off its axis, like the earth before the moon was able to ground it, create the concept of "upright," and allow life to form in newly established climates.

And then Orpheus struck my life and a third of it was propelled 238,857 miles away. And the earth righted itself and its axis was restored to 23.5 degrees, and I was able to walk on the ground again.

He said, "Damn these alternate tunings. If I ever meet this Chris Carrabba guy, I'm going to punch him in the face."
I said, "That would be unfair. He's tiny!"

And this is life. Life is laughter and diminutive moments of no importance and never having to be pretentious and discuss Shakespeare. It's about useless conversations and an optimism that you never talk about. It's about being grounded and empathetic and humble and honest and this is more human than anything a transcendentalist could ever scribble about, alone in the beautiful and desolate forest.

_desaparecida_ [userpic]

aren't you spoiled enough as it is?

July 12th, 2006 (03:08 pm)
current mood: aggrieved
current song: something matt pryor

We always write about hating people.

Who watches Dawson's Creek? Dawson, as anyone with a cerebrum who has seen the show is sure to be aware, is an asshole. He is self righteous, condescending, self-obsessed, self-involved, selfish, and spoiled. Personal fable? Check. Imaginary audience? Check. So egotistical? Obviously check.

Time to come to terms: We are ALL Dawson at some point. We are so busy analyzing and criticizing others that we cannot see our own failings; or if we can, we rationalize them and make excuses. Anything but blame ourselves.

Teenagers - how immature and self-centered are they? We are so self-aware that we cannot process any truth in between all the psychobabble. Emo kids - how pathetic are those goddamn attention whores? We criticize them for proclaiming to the world their insufferable sadness, but we are no better. We intellectualize, we talk about self-actualization and optimism; we think we're so superior.

For once in our wretched existence, can we actually be honest with each other? Forget the personas, forget the way we want to be perceived. If we could just let go of our pretentious philosophies for a single second, what would we learn? Who was the last person you talked to, even if it was just a single exchange? What is the color of their eyes? How many times did you say "I" throughout the conversation? Did you really listen to what they said, or were you so caught up in your own "problems" that you barely noticed?

Why aren't we asking these questions every second of the day?

< back | 0 - 10 |